New Age, Same Story
by LondonBelow
Summary: It's not easy for a woman to grow up in Middle-earth, any more than it is for a parent to explain gender inequality.


Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all related people, places and things were created by J.R.R. Tolkien.

Note: Though in Medieval times noble parents could leave the care of their children to others, I imagine Eowyn and Faramir would be involved with their children as much as they could as both know what it's like to be without parental affection.

* * *

Those who preach the gentleness of womenfolk, who warn us to take the greatest precautions with our fragile daughters, must never have seen my little Lady of Ithilien at wild play in the fields or tackling, with admitted unfailing futility, her five-years-elder brother.

Near sunset, when the day's last burst of natural light cast golden edges around us, I began the slow process of picking the burs from her hair, tangled, dark like her father's. Despite my careful efforts a few strands of hair yanked free with each of the burs. She yelped and squirmed, but never once drew away.

This is the nature of children. Children act without thought for the consequences. I would have worried if she were any other way.

When the comb yanked at her hair, she abandoned her bravery for an affronted, whining, "Can I not wear it short, as Elboron does? _Please_? I—" She interrupted herself by turning her head, tearing the comb through her hair, and making herself cry out in pain. "Oh, I hate it, I hate it!"

"Shh." I gathered her in my arms. "Poor little imp," I soothed, rubbing her back. Normally I would stroke her hair to calm her, but, under the circumstances…!

She maintained her sulk for a few moments, then handed me the comb in silent surrender. "But why can I not?" she wanted to know.

When we discussed the prospect of daughters, we discussed just this moment, huddled together in that holy of holies, the marriage bed. Yes, the marriage bed is exactly what lewd jokes suggest, but it is also a place for two people who have twined their fates together to be alone from all other influences, a place for honesty, openness and compassion. And there we wondered together who ought to tell our daughter what womanhood meant in the greater world.

All our discussions came to naught. She asked, I could only answer.

"You are a woman—"

"I'm _not_!"

Oh, the dramatics of childhood! They are truly wonderful.

To distract her I gathered her hair and combed as gently as I could. The tangles began to grudgingly release their hold. "Not in that sense, no," I agreed. Valar protect me, when the time comes, if she asks me _then_ to explain! "But you will be, one day. Men and women are different in the world. Many places are unlike Emyn Arnen, many people will think that because you are a woman you are less able than a man."

She disliked that. I knew she did. I knew from the stiffening of her shoulders, but more I knew from the cold sentiment. I had tried so to speak gently, but how merciful can one be in showing a prisoner the bars of her cage?

I expected a temper tantrum, indignation, perhaps tears. As she stood thinking over this new information, I stopped combing her hair to avoid another painful wrench. My breath came shorter with a frightened apprehension for my daughter's suffering. Her response was nothing I could have imagined, and it broke my heart: "Am I?" She asked with the innocent trust only a child can know, without even considering mistrust. A tone I could not identify carried in her voice, a mixture of fear and pain.

"_No_. Dear child, no! Being a woman, you will work twice as hard for half the respect, if you are lucky. You will be treated like a fool yet expected to run a household and expected to show a degree of restraint most men cannot dream of. The world is unfair against you..."

Saying that hurt more than I had ever imagined.

"...but it's wrong. You are strong and worthy, at least as much as any man."

She interrupted, "I wish I were not a woman. I wish I didn't have to be foolish and weak and wear dresses."

"You are far from foolish or weak."

I shook my head, silently chastising myself. How had I allowed my fear to run away with me? It was just that, my fear, which had chosen those clumsy words. In the past I had heard mothers teaching daughters to be humble, unassuming, submissive creatures. I had seen girls punished for boldness, for immodest play that was nothing more than that, play.

What had I done? Had I become such a parent? Hurriedly and praying I could unwork the damage, I explained, "Many men think women are weak, but—can I trust you with this secret?"

"Yes!" she promised eagerly.

"You are certain? You absolutely, beyond a shadow of doubt, swear you would not repeat this, that it could not be tortured out of you?"

"Yes!"

"Not even tickled out of you?" I asked, and rather than reply she burst into giggles when I tickled her. Tickling a secret out of a child would be impossible. How can anyone reveal secrets when he can scarcely breathe? "The secret is that you are lucky to be a woman."

She was lucky to be a woman in that time! The world was changing day by day. Twenty, fifty, one hundred years ago, women had far fewer opportunities, and who knew what paths might open to her as she grew up.

"The secret," I continued, separating her hair into three parts and beginning a braid, "is that women are so lucky, because growing up a woman, you will know who you are in a way your brothers might never know themselves. You can be so much stronger than any man might dream of being."

"Truly?" she asked, bouncing slightly in excitement

"Truly." I came to the end of her braid and tied it off, tidy as a cat's tail. Hard to believe this had so recently been a bird's nest! "You can do whatever you choose. You may have to work harder than a man would, but you can. Don't forget, you have strength in your blood, enough to do anything you want to in this world. You are the daughter of one of the greatest warriors of the Pelennor Fields."

She knew, of course. I never wanted my children to experience their childhood through a lens of maturity, as I had to do, viewing the world as a harsh place where mothers die and brothers do their best by reminding you how to behave 'normally'. What could I do but tell them stories about how the tiniest pebble can cause a ripple through the entire pond?

She brushed her fingers along the careful braid before looking up at me. "Bainwen's mama says nothing makes a woman happier than serving her husband."

_And I know less of womanhood than Bainwen's mama_. The implication hardly bothered me. What did I know of traditional womanhood, after all? "For some women, that's true."

"If I was one of those women, would you still love me?"

"Of course I would. You will always have parents who love you, no matter what happens—though if we're late to supper you may have one dead parent," I joked. The sun had gone down without me noticing; I only noticed then that the light had faded.

She tugged at my hand and held up her arms to be carried. She was getting to be too big for that, but I was leagues from having the heart to say no. "Is being a man worse than being a woman?" she asked as she settled in my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck.

"They're both wonderful."

"Am I your favorite daughter?"

I smiled. "Yes, you're my favorite—" and only "—daughter."

She giggled, appreciating the joke herself. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you, too."

_End_


End file.
